Dress yourself
not in the bulky armor
of righteousness and intolerance;
put on instead the flowing tunic
of patience and loving-kindness,
and dare to step out
into strange environs,
stopping here…and there
at first to listen, only
to listen.

O Divine Spirit,
you are the itch
that I must scratch,
the melody I can’t
stop humming.
You are the thorn
that prickles me incessantly,
the weight that would leave
a gaping chasm of emptiness
should you fly away.